Garrison Shiro's Adventures In Futureland
by illocust
Summary: He doesn't know who this hot man is or why they are running from giant purple space cats, but Shiro is all for living the Captain Kirk dream.


Shiro owes Matt big time. When he'd been badgered into this "getting over your ex" bar crawl, Shiro had been less than convinced by Matt's suggestion he might meet some hot drunk guys along the way. Well jokes on him, standing before him is nothing short of spandex clad sex incarnate. Long legs, dark hair, and tight clingy cloth that is utterly failing in its job of leaving things up to the imagination, it's like Shiro has managed to summon some sort of bar deity through his consumption of untold colorful shots and sad moping.

Unlike drinking until Matt has to steal his phone before he texts Adam, this is exactly the kind of distraction Shiro's been needing. The liquid courage filling his stomach more than enough to encourage grabbing the opportunity with both hands. Time to lay on the smooth. Shiro straightens up. Puts on that smile that always gets people smiling back, or at least the closest he can pull off to it in his current state, and leans forward to unleash his secret weapon, "Are you out of this world, because you're an alien," …wait, that doesn't sound right. Wasn't it, alien? Hot guy is snickering, best just to take the win. Forward towards victory, "I think you might be part star, because the closer I get the hotter you are," Hot guy's giggle snorts, another point to Shiro. Adam was wrong, Shiro is an excellent flirt. Wait, ah crud, does he know any other pick up lines? Ah, damn. No, no, confidence, just make something up. What's something he like, ah wait he's got it, "I'd like to take a trip to your seventh planet," Hah, yes, clever and to the poi-aw frick. Hot guy's eyes widen and he stops laughing. Shiro's not drunk enough to miss what that means.

Hot guy's face has gone stony, looking past Shiro out into the bar. Probably trying to spot his own friends and make his escape. Shiro opens his mouth to apologize, maybe try to salvage thing, but hot guy beats him to it, "Let's get out of here," He says, or Shiro thinks that's what he says. Maybe, "We need to get out of here"? No "Let's get out of here," makes more sense.

Hot guy doesn't wait around for Shiro to process. He grabs Shiro's arm and pulls him from the stool without waiting for agreement. It's all Shiro can do just to try and keep his balance. Keep it together Shirogane, don't make a fool of yourself in the homestretch. The alcohol has messed with the gravity of the floor, or at least that's how it feels as he's dragged through the crowd. Every surface like a magnet he has to struggle not to crash into while stumbling after the other man.

They leave the bar by the back exit, into a dingy alley that's seen much cleaner days. Thankfully, they don't stop walking. He's down for a one night stand, but not one out by the dumpster with the waft of drunk vomit all around. He doesn't even have a condom, and if hot guy has one, he must be hiding it in some interesting places for it not to show an outline in that spandex. Speaking of said companion, now that the cool night air has jogged his senses a bit, he realizes he doesn't have a name to go with the pert ass power walking in front of him. Maybe not exchanging names is normal for this sort of thing? It's not like he would know. Shiro's experience in this department is a grand total of nada, but surely not, wouldn't that be awkward? He would certainly like something other than hot to call him, "I'm Shiro," Shiro announces, possibly yells. Volume control is hard right now, it's not his fault.

Hot guy glances back at him, but doesn't stop, "I know," He says. Shit, maybe they'd already introduced themselves? How many of those pink drinks had he had again? They'd tasted so good, and Matt just kept buying. No, focus, Shirogane, focus. Name.

"What's yours?" Shiro asks, and he really hopes that once you're out on the street its too late to decide you picked a loser and go back to the bar for someone less drunk.

"Keith," Hot g-Keith says, almost wary?

"I know a Keith," Shiro says, because filters disappeared with the blue umbrella drink that tasted like pineapples.

"I know," Keith says. How much conversation has he forgotten? Is he blackout drunk? Is this what that feels like? He's going to have to take pictures. Sober him will never forgive him if he forgets about this. Is it against hook up etiquette to take pictures? Why isn't there a manual for this sort of thing. Preferably with small words and pictures.

There is yelling behind him, angry. Drunks fighting maybe? Shiro tries to turn and see if someone might need help or the cops called, but suddenly his entire world is spinning. It takes everything in him not to hurl, but when his stomach settles, he's treated to the sight of rapidly passing concrete and some very attractive glutes. A shoulder is digging into his gut. He's being carried? What? Keith has muscles sure. They're impossible to miss with his choice of outfits, but Shiro's not a tiny man by any stretch of the imagination. Lifting him should be an ordeal, running with him, unimaginable. Score.

As if his night needs a dose of the strange, more yelling prompts Shiro to look behind him, and they're being chased by…furries? Giant fluffy purple ones. Wait, did Matt take him to a sex club? Oh god, the spandex suit, being receptive to Shiro's flirting, and now furries. Of course it was a sex club. This is exactly the sort of thing Matt would think is a great way to get over an ex. He's going to kill him. He's going to get into a fist fight with a guy in a fursuit, then he's going to stomp back to the club and kick Matt's ass. Possibly taking a detour to get laid if Keith's still up for it. Priorities.

He's not quite sure where they are going, but Keith seems to. He doesn't stop or slow once in his mad dash. Taking corners at a full run, and seemingly entirely unphased to be hauling Shiro's bulk while doing it. He should probably be slightly concerned that this is starting to feel more like a kinky kidnapping instead of one night stand, but honestly, it's just really hot. Mr. short, dark, and handsome can have Shiro anyway he wants, if this is what he brings to the table.

Concrete turns to grass. Shiro doesn't recognize where they are, but the sound of hydraulics is unmistakable. A flying leap and they're on a closing ramp, running into a small metal room, and maybe he should have been struggling to get free this entire time.

Keith unceremoniously dumps Shiro in a bucket seat, no, co-pilot chair. Unfamiliar model, but this is his livelihood. He knows what a cockpit looks like even if it has funky crystals glowing in weird places.

Keith sits down in what Shiro assumes is the pilot seat and starts pressing buttons. There's no start up sequence, no countdown. The ship comes alive as easy as a car, and it takes off even faster. This can't be real. Their nose up towards the stars, and he can barely feel the acceleration. It like a sim. That sense of fakeness where what you see isn't matching what you feel.

They pass the clouds likes its nothing, breach the atmosphere, out into the infinite space that exists beyond the thin shell of their world. This isn't fake. He's been here before, seen Earth's light from orbit and passed the pale moon. The sims never get this view quite right. Always just a little off, but this is perfect.

Shiro looks over to his kidnapper/pilot, and he may be in over his head. The lighting in the club hadn't been the greatest, but even drunk as he still is, he'd have noticed the cat slit eyes or the fangs. His companion isn't from around here.

They must reach a safe distance from whatever Keith was running from, he can probably cross furries off the list of possibilities, because 'Keith' lets out a breath and slumps in his seat. Seemingly happy to let them drift for a bit.

"Are you an alien?" Shiro asks.

Keith startles, his face does something funny that Shiro can't quite read right now, "Sorta," He answers. Star Trek was right, there is intelligent life out there, and it is hot.

"I don't suppose this is some sort of cosmic booty call, is it?" Shiro jokes, with much less humor and much more hope than is probably acceptable for a potential first contact situation.

Keith tilts his head, and it hard not to get caught up in how his eyes have changed once again to the most mesmerizing purple. Still alien but oddly familiar. Keith leans into his space, close to neck, and inhales long and deep. Shiro forgets how to breathe, "You're interested," Keith says, like its a revelation, before pulling away.

Hopefully, Keith chalks the flush of Shiro's skin up to booze, "A little?" Shiro squeaks out, more embarrassed than the charming his fantasies always laid out for this sort of scenario.

Keith's stare is intense. Then he's on his feet. Making Shiro's head spin as he tries to track the flurry of movement, as Keith dashes across the room and digs through a previously hidden drawer market with a suspiciously familiar red cross. Keith is back in front of him. Shiro can just barely make out something shiny in his hand, before said something is stabbed into his arm and he's pulled out of his chair into a bruising kiss.

His brain wars between panic and yes please, then Keith's tongue enters his mouth and yes please wins. He kisses in all the ways that make Shiro weak, focused and overwhelming. Hand fisted in Shiro's hair, holding him exactly where Keith wants him. The kiss burns through the haze of alcohol.

Shiro is panting and hard when Keith drops him back in his chair. Keith gives him a once over, taking his time when he gets to the bulge in Shiro's pants. He's not brave enough to ask him if he likes what he sees, "Sober?" Keith asks.

After all he's drunk of course he's not-he is sober. Completely. Shiro moves his head side to side, but there's not feeling of loss of control. Gravity works as it should. He's gone from too drunk to walk a straight line to stone cold sober in the span of a single kiss, "Yes?" Shiro asks as much as he states.

Keith's hand finds it ways back into his hair, pulling Shiro's head back so Keith can breath against his throat once more, "Still interested?" Keith asks, voice dropping an octave. Shiro's not ashamed of how much tighter that makes his pants feel.

"Yes"


End file.
